My heart is tired.
My mind is tired.
My soul is tired.
I'm a tangled mess of sorry excuses and fake promises.
Broken over and over again to amuse an audience I'll never see.
What a sick game that is.
All I can do is watch and feel the pain.
I hope you're laughing or that you feel moved.
My act is just about to come to an end.
Sooner or later.
Soon.

promise

Beauty is in my broken little pieces. In the way I  fall apart each night and yet manage to reassemble myself by the first ray of dawn.
I'm a mess, a collectible clutter of ill fiting pieces with high hopes of being whole in the future.
But that day will probably never come, for I'm not a diamond in the rough.
I was glass thought to be bulletproof but that was not the case.
I tried flame and ice to forge me anew and nothing happened, heaven's barred and hell won't have me.
So stay away, away from the mess I call life and you might be free of my curse.
But if you decide against my advice then promise not to complain about my sharp edges.

Doomed.

This darkness is bewitching.
The sadness knocking on my door and the feeling that i choke on thin air.
I'm on the edge trying to figure out what to do, wait and see or jump and to hell with them all?
But I guess having even this feeling is better than not feeling at all.
People dont want to change, they want YOU to change so you fit their plan and they have to do nothing to disturb their ignorance.
Take me as I am or stop raining on my parade, this shit is getting old.
I love my mess. If you cant deal with this then why should i spare my happy moments.
Im a turmoil, a storm and  I cant, wont be tamed.
You say Im doomed. I say to hell with you and all the people alike.